


It's Easy to be a Winchester #2

by NephthysRaven (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 10:02:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/NephthysRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is okay with not being normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Easy to be a Winchester #2

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Prompt # 062 MELANCHOLY for 100moods.
> 
> Kripke and the CW own Supernatural and the Winchesters.

 

 

 

John was lucky, the Impala was making every green light on the road. God he loved this car, her personality suited his rugged needs. She was beautiful, sassy and tough when she needed to be. She was also elegant and sleek and made John look sexy. She was already Dean's. John Winchester never rolled his eyes, but he did when he thought of Dean at the wheel. Dean drove this car like he was born in it. John smiled, she’ll treat you well son, I know it.

The Impala smelled of gun oil, cigarettes, and domestic beer, the scent mingled together and calmed Dean down as he settled comfortably into the soft leather.

"Now, I wouldn't normally do this," John said.

"You mean use me as bait. I'm cool," Dean said. He nibbled on a hangnail. "I know what I'm doing."

John laughed loudly tapping the steering wheel. "Not really."

Dean cocked an eyebrow.

"Okay, you do. But the first sign of trouble means you start running."

Dean shifted in his seat. He spoke low. "No freaking way, we're partners remember. I'm not Sam.”

Sam was at home, doing homework. At twelve, Dean was training everyday, hunting when John would give him the chance. Twelve year old Sam on the other hand, was too busy being a normal adolescent: doing homework, running for soccer, back talking and constantly ‘doing stuff’ at the mall.

"Give me your hand."

Dean obeyed. He held out his left hand unsure about this situation.

"Just as I thought, not enough calluses,” John said.

The false mockery had Dean in stitches. "Oh, yeah. That's good. That makes sense..." Dean's voice trailed off.

The Impala stopped at a light in front of a teen hangout. Dean counted eleven of them. The girls were giggling, as one boy in black jeans and a white t-shirt told a story with waving hands and one leg out. The white shirt read 'I'm cuter than your boyfriend'. Dean smirked. He recognized most of them from school. He wasn’t planning on getting to know anybody this time. _Maybe the next town,_ Dean thought. _I’ll talk a little more, flirt a little more, and maybe hang out with the guys. Next time._ He could drive the Impala to and from school and be the cool kid, the kid with the cool car and all the girls.

"Dude, dude you're getting the story wrong," a boy said and proceeded to push his friend out of the way. He spit out his cigarette and stomped on it before he took over the story.

“You weren’t inhaling anyway,” Dean sneered. He leaned over for a better look, his breath fogged the window, but he didn’t back away.

The girls sipped their drinks and nibbled on ketchup-dipped fries. Some girls were flirty, sitting on a guy's lap or smacking a few on the shoulder. Some of the laughter was obviously fake, shrill with too much head bobbing. One girl in a forest-green tank top waved. Only then did Dean pull back and look away. He shut his eyes, but he could still see her ebony hair cascading down her forest-green tank top. He could still see the swish of her long white skirt, the bronze of her lipstick, and the precise manner in which she pushed out her chest to wave him down.

“Hey Dean,” she yelled. Dean heard more giggling.

Dean turned his head and nibbled on his hangnail once more.

"Are you alright?” John’s voice was steady.

Dean’s front teeth met its mark, he ripped the annoying piece of skin off his right index finger.

“Dean,” she called again.

"Yeah, I’m alright,” Dean answered. His eyes were pointed downward, staring at his dirty boots, staring at the rug stains of the car.

The light turned green, the Impala drove on. “Y’know, this family, our family, we’re not like everybody else,” John said.

Dean took a deep breath when he couldn’t see the burger joint in the rear view mirror anymore. Dean inhaled the familiar yet stale scent of cigarettes, gun oil and domestic beer. Dean huddled deep into the leather seat. “We’re not normal,” Dean whispered. “I’m okay with that.”

 

 

~NR


End file.
